


Corset

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Corsetry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-29
Updated: 2010-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy buys and cherishes a corset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



> Written for the Five Acts meme. [](http://jouissant.livejournal.com/profile)[**jouissant**](http://jouissant.livejournal.com/) [wanted](http://jouissant.livejournal.com/8229.html) "clothes fetishization". Art by: [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[nix_this](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/).

  
[](http://penguinz.nfshost.com/bonescorset.png)   
Art by [](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nix-this.livejournal.com/)**nix_this**  


Leonard had always wanted the corset. Opalescent white, made of some unidentifiable modern material, cut straight at the top and equipped with delicate straps, it had called to him every single time he walked through the spacious but slightly dilapidated sex shop off main street.

He did this twice-monthly for several years, because he ran an informal clinic—first as a precocious twenty-year-old med student, in due course as a full-fledged physician—for people with sex- and sex-toy-related medical questions. It was a way of keeping in touch with regular people, not losing too much perspective in the textbooks and clinical presentations that more or less ring-fenced his life for those years between college and Starfleet. He usually had some enjoyment in these little Q&A sessions of his, but walking in past the corset was always a highlight.

The first year or so, he’d looked at it up there on the highest mannequin, the one hung so high up the wall he figured it might never sell because hauling it down for customers to try on was just too much damn hassle, and he’d thought _soon. Just let us get settled down as man and wife, get comfortable with one another, and then I’ll broach the subject._ Later, when he knew himself and his wife better, and still hadn’t dared ask her about corsets, he looked at it more wistfully. _One day, maybe._ Later still, he knew it would never happen. He’d learned enough about Jocelyn to know that he didn’t inspire her to great heights of sexual passion or exploration, and she was quite comfortable with their ordinary, uninspiring, unremarkable sex life, or lack thereof. That the people who came to him with questions were Not Like Us, Leonard, with a side order of Thank Goodness and a subtext of _Those Freaks!_ He doubted she’d ever been to the place before she formed that opinion, but he had no joy in suggesting she should.

After she told him she was getting a divorce and wanted him as far away from her and hers as possible, Leonard stopped by the sex shop on his way out of town and made them climb up there and get him his goddamn corset.

(Simon had looked up from the artful architectural display he was forming out of variously-sized buttplug boxes, glanced at Mo scaling the stepladder then back at Leonard, and mouthed “About time, Doc.”)

That night, in a dingy motel room as far from Atlanta as the public transit system had been able to take him in six hours without any gravity defying stunts, he fondled the precious thing through the tissue paper the little but frightening blue-haired shop girl had wrapped it in and wondered if he would ever find someone to wear it for him. But he couldn’t picture the Cinderella it might fit.

It was only at the academy, the night before he was scheduled to start the dreaded flying lessons (mandatory, damn it), that it occurred to him that the corset was essentially unisex, and fairly adjustable because it laced all the way up the back. It would probably fit him. And there was no reason why not—was there? It was _his_ corset, there was absolutely no reason he shouldn’t—

One reason, as it turned out. Mighty hard to lace a corset up by himself, neophyte that he was. Arm joints just didn’t bend the way he really needed to reach the small of his back comfortably, let alone that awkward part above. Things looked grim.

But Leonard McCoy was nothing if not mule-stubborn.

And if, once the deed was satisfactorily accomplished, he stood for a long while in front of the bathroom mirror and grinned at himself—well, that was _triumph_ , not vanity. Nothing wrong with that.

***

Okay, so he liked it. A lot. The material had memory, so the more he wore it the better it seemed to fit, the closer it seemed to mould to his body, until he almost fancied his corset loved him as much as he loved it.

It was also rather good for his posture, reminding if not forcing him to sit up straight, and it made him aware of his continuing to breathe in a way that was pretty damn reassuring in shuttle simulations and the like. And it wasn’t like anyone could tell he was wearing it under his reds and regulation undergarments. It made him feel as if a faithful friend were hugging him all day long. Comforted. Cared for. Content. And whenever he remembered how the thing _looked_ , he felt sexy too.

So it became a pretty standard part of his daytime attire, outside the gym (where it was too restrictive and likely to show beneath the tank and sweats he worked out in) and at the hospital (where it would be at risk of any number of spills which might land it in a biohazard disposal container). It was his secret, and he hoarded and protected it as only a man who has lost much in his life knows how.

So it was not at all in his game plan for Jim Kirk of all people to find out. But Jim Kirk was no great respecter of other people’s game plans, it would seem. Jim Kirk, who was apt to burst into Leonard's dorm at all hours without warning. Jim Kirk, who pawed through his stuff and borrowed things without invitation. Jim Kirk, who thought consideration of boundaries and personal space belonged entirely in the province of _other_ people.

On that fateful day, the said Jim Kirk decided it would be a fine idea to wrestle Leonard McCoy to the ground while he was innocently crossing the academy quad after acing his toxicology test on various common, apparently innocuous alien substances that could kill a careless ensign stone dead inside a minute. Said Jim Kirk had expressed concerns about Leonard's ability to pass Hand-to-Hand Combat I, and had apparently decided that this sunny afternoon and this uninhabited grassy area would be the ideal time and venue for a practical defence lesson.

“Hang on,” said Jim, partway into his attempt to get Leonard to fight back by tickling him. ‘That can’t be a rib. It’s too vertic—”

“Damn it, Jim, there’ll be grass stains—”

Annoying kid was still feeling around, tracing the path of one of the corset’s bones through the layers of Leonard's uniform garments. Leonard, accordingly, struggled like hell.

Which was a bad move, because it only confirmed to Jim that he was hiding something. And a determined Jim was far, far worse than an idly curious one.

This was not going to end well. Leonard might be heavier, but Jim invariably won these fights if you let him get you in a position of power, like, say, if he had you pinned to the fragrant academy lawn. Struggling therefore seemed somewhat on the ultimately pointless side.

“Ooh, is that another one?”

Leonard sighed and let his arms fall lax. “They’re bones, Jim.”

“They are _so_ not bones—I may be a cadet, not a doctor, but I do have _some_ notion of humanoid osteology, and this—”

Leonard closed his eyes briefly and surrendered to fate. “Bones as in _boning_ , Jim. As in, the modern synthetic equivalent of longitudinal segments of whale bone. Get off me.”

It was strange how handsome Jim could look even while flummoxed, confused, and frowning like a small child who’d just been asked to multiply three-digit numbers in his head.

“A back brace?” he suggested, sounding uncertain.

“Get off me, and I’ll show you. After I’ve had a god-damn drink.” _And if you crack up,_ he privately added, _so help me, I will make your painful, extended death look like an unfortunate masturbatory accident…_

Jim didn’t crack up, but he did finish his drink awfully fast. Then he tackled Leonard for the second time that afternoon, though fortunately it resulted in a bed-based rather than a ground-based landing this time. And there were wandering hands again, but also kisses and a squirming, intermittently giggling Jim.

“Damn it, Jim, you had better not be laughing,” Leonard growled, when he had the chance.

“Settle, petal. I’m appreciating. Never knew you were the kinky sort, McCoy.”

“I’m not.”

Jim’s fingers skimmed the corset’s busk. “Bullshit.”

Leonard huffed a sigh and helped himself to a handful of firm Kirkian ass. “Fine. I’m the kinky sort.” A hot shiver zinged through him before settling in his cock. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Jim kissed his nose, going briefly cross-eyed in the process. Quite how this managed to be adorable Leonard did not know. “First, I’m going to fuck you. Or possibly you’ll fuck me.” He frowned. Reached for a pocket. “Hang on.”

Leonard watched in consternation as Jim got out his wallet and produced from it—of all things—an antique coin. Which he sat up and flipped.

Jim inspected the coin where it had landed on Leonard’s white-encased stomach. Grinned hugely. “Allrightythen.”

Leonard frowned at him as loudly as possible. “Well?” Oh, damn, now it sounded like he actually condoned this whole performance.

“Heads,” Jim said, getting up and beginning to remove and toss away garments with incredible alacrity. “Where’s the lube?”

“You are incorrigible, kid.”

“Thanks.” Those blue, blue eyes flicked down, towards Leonard's corset-constrained chest. “Bones.” He looked as if a light had gone on somewhere inside that deviant skull. “Bones,” he repeated happily. “Bones, Bones, Bones.” He jumped back onto the bed, narrowly avoiding damage to any part of Leonard's entirely innocent person.

_I don’t want to know. I so don’t want to know._ “Did I just get the Cupcake treatment, Jim?”

“Nah. Your new nickname’s the product of several weeks’ serious searching and shit, not sudden whim. And it totally suits you, Bones. You are definitely a Bones. You are like the epitome of Bones. There has never been a better Bones. I will tell people that you are Bones, and they will wonder how they did not know just from looking at you that this was so. For you are my Bones, and this is—”

_Fuck it,_ Leonard decided. _Easier to have sex with him than listen to him. And this corset needs christening, damn it…_

 

***END***


End file.
